Jacket
by HuffyTheCampfireSlayer
Summary: What if inanimate objects could tell stories...


Title: Jacket  
  
Author: HuffyTheCampfireSlayer  
  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. The WBs. So don't sue!  
  
Summary: What if inanimate objects could tell stories... Shipperness? Um... Clark and the jacket if you must have a 'ship.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
I am but a simple jacket.  
  
  
  
I would tell you this, but although I have arms, I have no fingers or hands with which to write or type. I have a neck, but no head with which to speak, or think for that matter. So how I can tell you this I do not know. Maybe you are a special person who can tell the history of a garment simply by touching it... What do I know? What I *do* know is that my owner is special and this story will tell you how we met and how I became his.  
  
  
  
So I invite you... touch my sleeve and I will reveal all.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sadly, I began life as a piece of material in India. I was made by a skilled, but underpaid worker in a sweatshop. That boy made me with such care and consideration, which is very fortunate considering the great future I had before me.  
  
  
  
Soon after I was completed I experienced flight, for what I hope will not be the first and only time, as I was flown to a warehouse in the United States of America.  
  
  
  
Due to the popularity of my brothers and sisters before me I was soon required in the state of Kansas. I sat in a shop for a few days, quietly on the rack, waiting to be brought. Only a few people tried me on and then disregarded me. But that did not concern me. I knew I had a better more important future ahead of me.  
  
  
  
I waited and waited, until a beautiful red haired woman spotted me. The tall, dark-haired young man who was with her referred to her as 'Mom'. She suggested that this charming, handsome gentleman tried me on.  
  
  
  
"Yes please!" I would have begged, had I had that head, and consequently a mouth. To be worn by such a strapping young man! I KNEW I was destined for greatness!  
  
  
  
I suppose at this point I should describe myself to you (although if you are still touching my sleeve you should be able to see me, but for the blind/short of sight: ) I am an attractive jacket, if I do say so myself. I am tan in colour, and made of corduroy. I have buttons on my right side to put though the holes on my left, should the wearer feel cold. I also have a nice warm fur collar, just for that extra bit of warmth. I am a very desirable coat by a well-known designer label. But I digress...  
  
  
  
The young man pulls me on with his firm, tight grip. He stares at his reflection in the nearby mirror whilst wearing me. I enjoy this moment, as I know he feels good in me.  
  
  
  
"It looks nice." Says the lovely woman called 'Mom'.  
  
  
  
The boy is unsure.  
  
  
  
'No I do. I do.' I protest silently. 'Listen to Mom! She's right.'  
  
  
  
He takes me off and I cry with disappointment, well I would have, if I could. He looks at another jacket. That one is green.  
  
  
  
'No get me!' I call again, still without a voice in the world.  
  
  
  
But have no fear. This story ends happily. There isn't a green coat in his size. I'd have jumped for joy, but no legs...  
  
  
  
He puts me back on. He's an indecisive one this guy! But I'm sure it will be worth the wait if he buys me. Mom reassures him again that I look great on him. I blush at this compliment as I hug his broad shoulders, feeling as comfortable on him as I hope he feels wearing me.  
  
  
  
A few minutes later he agrees with Mom, what a great woman! He tells her he has no idea what looks good on him anyway.  
  
  
  
Mom and the young man, who courtesy of Mom, I discover goes by the name of Clark, take me to the cash desk where they exchange many pieces of green paper for me.  
  
  
  
I am sold! The nice shop assistant puts me into a pretty, recyclable, paper bag that advertises the shop, I say goodbye to all my jacket friends and my life of wearitude begins...  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Since then I have realised that Clark Kent is no ordinary farm boy. He is gifted. The speed with which he runs around in me makes me giddy. But I am extremely pleased to his coat and no one elses.  
  
  
  
At this moment in time I hang over a chair in the Kent's kitchen, whilst Clark and his parents eat dinner, talking about the days events.  
  
  
  
But I am not the same carefree jacket I once was. Ever since Clark started High School, this was shortly after he had acquired me. He developed a curious habit of saving people with his gifts, and though he did not run the risk of getting hurt himself, you would have thought he'd have spared a thought for the jacket on his back.  
  
  
  
I've watched in horror for the past few months as Clark returned every so often with a damaged jacket. Just the other day he came back with his dark blue jacket in tatters. He explained to his parents that he had torn it on the underside of a truck, when saving the waitress from the Beanery. I am just glad that it wasn't me! Of course he had saved the young girls life, but how Mom tutted at my ruined co-worker. Poor blue, its life was so short lived! I wonder whether I will meet a similar fate.  
  
  
  
Now every time I leave the house on this young hero's back I hope, I wish, I pray, that I will return in tact. That is if I were not an inanimate object... not capable of thought.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
- Fin - 


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